April 21, 2010

By the time PBoSMoI caught up with him, this polar bear was sloppy drunk. This arctic vacationer, tanked beyond belief, was last seen wearing a scandalously short skirt and heading into a large black bus with “Polar Bears Gone Wild” spray-painted across the side.

April 16, 2010

Whether the animal on this photograph is in fact a polar bear or an obesely deformed swan proved difficult to judge. Kel Troughton, who was on the scene, had this to say:

“Whatever it was, that thing was lazy. I sat in my dinghy for 3 hours watching that beast try to mount that shit. I got cold and rowed off. But a buddy of mine told me later that after 6.5 hours that bastard finally made it to the top. That’s when he shot it. He tried to eat it but it was full of foam packing peanuts. It might’ve been a robot. A broken, lazy robot.”

April 15, 2010

"And what God giveth, so shall he take back," the explorer whispered to his new acquaintance.

International PBoSPoI correspondent Moishe Brown sent us a letter with this photograph. The letter reads:

Dear Michael,

Please find attached a picture that you might be able to use on your blog. Taken in 1927, this photograph documents an unlikely meeting between an explorer and a polar bear clan. All too often we are reminded of hot-button issues like global warming, poaching, and unprovoked bear attacks, all of which set the tone when discussing human/polar bear relations. This photograph conjures to mind a simpler time when the world was big enough for both humans and bears to co-exist, and maybe even share a coca-cola.

Yours in loving and groveling devotion,

Moishe Jacob Brown

p.s. There is a crispness in the air here that strikes my senses sharply. Odors are magnified and sights brightened. I saw a shooting star last night that set the night ablaze. It brought back memories of a shooting star I had seen last week, which in turn surfaced memories of a shooting star last month, which really got me thinking about that time we smoked weed in your car.

April 13, 2010

"There are but four pleasures in life: sweets, woman, adventure and freshly-pressed knickers." - Constantine John Phipps, 2nd Baron Mulgrave

Born into a life of rabid tea-sipping and biscuit-munching, Constantine John Phipps was a restless and portly child. In his hometown of York he paced the avenues for hours at a time, pilfering the many candy shops that lined the streets and lining his pockets with caramels and licorice.

“How that Constantine pilfers our stocks!” the shop owners grumbled amongst themselves. Their frustration with the younger Phipps was only matched by the prostration they demonstrated before the elder Phipps, who owned much of the local property and had slept with each of their wives on numerous sweaty occasions.

The younger Phipps found an outlet for his energy as an officer in the Royal British Navy, where he participated both in the 7 Years War and the American War of Independence. After a particularly violent skirmish, the admiral in charge of Phipps’ flotilla wrote in admiration:

“The speed with which Phipps discharged his cannons in to enemy ship and town alike is an astounding sight. He sank 3 ships before supper time and another 2 after tea.

Yet when I came to congratulate Sir Phipps with his accomplishment, I found him in a frightful state. Honey dripped from his chin; his hands, so caked with the sticky remnants of caramels, forced me to withdraw my offered handshake.”

After completing his stint for the Royal Navy, Constantine Phipps became a registered Explorer for the British Crown. It was during one of these expeditions north that Phipps became the first westerner to describe the polar bear. Amazed at what he first christened Bovinus nixus, or Great Northern Snow Cow, he wrote in his diary:

“A remarkable creature without question: its nose the color of sweet black licorice and its coat radiating a creamy vanilla glow. A deliciously beautiful figure.”

It was only upon his return and the subsequent intervention of his father, wife, admiral, counselor, assistant, local baker and confectioner, that Phipps consented to the name Ursus maritimus. “A plebian name by any measure,” he was heard to moan upon his deathbed. “And yet how nobly that great beast rested upon his small shelf of ice!”

April 9, 2010

A mother bear, reinvigorated after a zesty 34 kilometer swim, climbs aboard her favorite perch in order to “re-up” for the return lap. As so-called global warming accelerates, more open air long-distance pools and resting places such as these will become availble to bears, who will no doubt be delighted and grateful.

Across the North Pole, polar bears stare humanity in the eye and call out in a unified voice: “Bring it on!”

April 8, 2010

"In some areas, the polar bear's diet is supplemented by walrus calves and by the carcasses of dead adult walruses or whales, whose blubber is readily devoured even when rotten."

Like humming birds to the teet of a budding Sweet Bay flower, the infamous militia known as The Soft White Underbelly Crew descended to feast on a stray carcass. To their confusion and subsequent rage they had been pranked once again by the Bad Channel Boys. All they found was an irregularly shaped pack of snow and an empty bottle of ketchup.

April 7, 2010

There is a tender moment in the long predawn hours of arctic spring when the lone bear paints the canvas of his ice with the wide, rich strokes of seal blood. Stained, he retires for the day to digest.

April 6, 2010

Emily Heller, “cub” reporter for PBoSPoI just filed this urgent and unsettling report:

“While some may see the following photo as evidence of polar bears existing apart from small pieces of ice, the record must be set straight: this is a doctored photo.”

After a number of obscure tangents, Ms. Heller elaborates on the matter at hand:

“It is well kown that polar bears can not survive without the subtle sensation of ice melting beneath their paws. And what is true for large polar bears is doubly true for small polar bears. And quadrupuly true for babies. Human babies.”

Heller went on to add:

“Small polar bears go bannanas for small icebergs.”

As to who might have doctored the photo or why, Ms. Heller seemed entirely stumped: